


Jeremy Versus the Son-in-Law

by runrarebit



Series: Misfits Moments [14]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: AU, Alternate Timeline, Dark!Simon, Domestic Fluff, Embarrassment, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sexual Abuse, Simon being Simon, Step-dad shaming, Weddings, horrible wedding speeches, mentions of bloody vengeance, nathan being nathan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 09:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18753604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: And here we are, back to somewhere near the start. This happens afterSilky Robes and Stripper Heels- which takes place in the three months between s02e06 and the Christmas Special- and runs through to afterSpiral Fracture.Here we have domestic fluff, tea on Sunday, a wedding, Simon turning up on the doorstep demanding a last name, and a little of the aftermath of what Simon did to Richard ending up in the papers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone want me to make an index for this series, with series order, chronological order, and how they relate to episodes and each other? If so please let me know.
> 
> Also TRIGGER WARNING: for some mention of what happens in Spiral Fracture.
> 
> Thank you all, as always, for reading and for the comments and kudos, I hope you enjoy!

Louise is nervous— honestly _he’s_ nervous. They are both nervous. Nathan is bringing his boyfriend, of all things, around for tea. He would guess the two of them have good reason to be nervous. 

It’s been a while since either of them have seen Nathan for longer than it takes for the boy to come around and drop his washing off or come and pick it up again— that _moment_ at the Community Centre aside. 

Boy was that a shock. After two days of his fiancée desperately trying to locate her son they had been prepared to possibly see something they hadn’t wanted to, maybe he’d been beaten up, maybe he was high on drugs, maybe he’d moved in with a girl without telling Louise— what they had not expected to see was him barely dressed in women’s clothing and being buggered up against a wall in a public space.

At least this Simon turned out to be a boyfriend and the experience wasn’t down to Nathan turning tricks— which had honestly been his first thought. Louise hasn’t mentioned it again, but he has found himself a bit concerned that none of Nathan’s supposed friends had seen him in weeks and when they had tracked him down it’d been at the place he has community service. He does have somewhere to live, doesn’t he? He had never wanted to leave the boy homeless.

Honestly throwing him out had been Louise’s idea, for all she likes to blame him. Equally honestly he hadn’t protested much. When Louise had warned him she had a son and that said son was _difficult_ he’d thought maybe the kid would be aggressive, a bit rude, maybe swear at him and warn him off— and that eventually they’d find some kind of common ground, maybe never like each other, but reach some level of tolerance— and then he’d met Nathan. 

He’d asked her, early on, and very _gently_ , if the boy was disturbed or something, if anything had happened to him when he was a kid that would account for— well, _him,_ and when she’d said “no” he’d assumed it was genetic, that Mike, the father, must be like that as well— but then she’d said he was a right arsehole but he wasn’t like Nathan. He’d just assumed that the kid was— _evil_ might be a stretch, but not much of a one. 

He was moody and vicious and giddily indifferent to other people’s feelings. He seemed to have no life goals, perfectly content to mooch off his mum and spend half his nights drinking and going out with his mates and the other half on the couch demanding Louise’s attention and taking the piss out of him. The kid had actually reduced him to tears, more than once— and that last week or so before that fateful holiday to Spain he had been an absolute nightmare. _Possessed_ she’s suggested, only half joking. Happy and giddy and affectionate one moment, helping her out in the kitchen and actually doing some chores, and the next vicious and cutting and cruel, prone to destroying things, punching the wall, sensitive to every slight, insults flowing like water from his lips. It had been a relief to get away from him, to lounge in the sun and make love all night in their hotel room without him banging on the walls and making _comments._

She’d told him before she did it, that she was going to pack Nathan’s things and change the locks when he went off to his community service, and all he could think was “thank Christ.” 

Then it was like Nathan disappeared into thin air— not at first, at first he’d been angry and wheedling and trying to worm his way back in, and then _the incident_ had happened and Nathan had actually _broken in_ to confront him about the— well, the Storm issue, but after that it was nothing more than the occasional visit regarding his laundry and he’d be off again, not even staying for tea. 

That had gotten worse recently. In fact the length of time between visits had gotten longer, the length of the visits even shorter, and when Nathan did arrive with his laundry Louise would complain about most of it having obviously been washed in the sink somewhere beforehand, especially all his underwear— which he’s not going to think about too closely right now. 

Fucking hell though— He had gotten an eyeful while Nathan was trying to cover up his boyfriend. It had been like staring into the abyss— he shouldn’t think about it, anymore than he should think that apparently Nathan likes his men as well endowed as his mother does. He cringes. Absolutely should not think about that— at least now he’s sure _he’s_ not gay. He never thought he was, but his best mate Declan Jones had gotten drunk and kissed him at a party at Uni— a week before flinging himself out of the closet— and he had wondered every now and then after— but he’s not. Also he is not the sort of pervert that finds his future step-son attractive, so there’s that as well. 

…

The mind is a funny thing, isn’t it? Absolutely none of those are thoughts he wants to be having while he and his fiancée prepare a Sunday roast for his fiancée’s son and his boyfriend. It’s lamb and potatoes and peas, with mint jelly and everything, with a store bought Victoria sponge for after. 

It’s been _ages_ since they’ve had a roast, mainly because, strictly speaking, neither he nor Louise— nor, apparently Nathan— like them much, but she’d been fretting and he’d been fretting and apparently once you both start fretting about a family meal the only thing you can do is channel your combined childhoods and everyone’s overbearing nan. Personally, he hates mint jelly. 

Anyway, he thinks being forced to see what he was forced to see probably evens things out after the whole Nathan catching him _running around naked thinking he’s a dog_ incident. Nathan has seen him in an embarrassing situation, he has seen Nathan in an embarrassing situation, the power relationship has once more evened out. 

‘Why are we doing this? You know what he’ll be like—’ Louise sighs as she straightens up from peering through the oven door to check on the lamb. 

He pulls her into his arms, one hand going down to rest over the small bump where their child is developing. _His_ child. He is going to be a _father._ Honestly he’d given up on the idea before he met her, and then when he had met her he’d thought the chance was so slim— but here it is. They didn’t even do IVF, they never even discussed it, she’d just come home one day, hidden in the bathroom for ten minutes muttering to herself, and then handed him the pregnancy test. ‘I thought I might be,’ is what she’d said, ‘But I wasn’t sure.’ They didn’t really discuss whether she was keeping it, they’d both been too excited.

Then, on their way back home from having the first scan, she’d pulled over into a McDonald’s carpark and turned to him to say in that lovely Irish accent of hers, ‘I’m not trying to trap you or anything, but do you want to get married? Because, baby or not, I’d rather like to marry you.’

Which was what led to tonight. 

‘What if he turns up in a dress?’ she asks, burying her face against his neck. ‘It’d be just like him, wouldn’t it? How am I supposed to look him in the face if he’s wearing a dress?’

‘I’m sure he won’t be wearing a dress,’ he says, sure of no such thing, ‘But if he is, we’ll manage. Who knows, he might be on his best behaviour for this boyfriend of his.’

‘Oh, I hope so,’ she says, leaning up to peck him the lips and saying, ‘Now, how are those potatoes coming along?’ Quite well really, he’s almost finished peeling them.

Nathan is not wearing a dress. Nathan is neatly dressed in what look like they might be his best jeans and a clean shirt, a bunch of flowers in the hand not clutching his boyfriend’s. The boyfriend is even neater, proper suit trousers and a button up shirt, all in shades of grey, a bottle of decent red wine in his spare hand. 

It’s strange. 

Nathan is— well, he likes this version of Nathan a lot more than any other one he’s ever met. The boy isn’t exactly polite, but he keeps the worst of his comments to himself, and every time something particularly appalling slips out he glances at Simon and then looks down, almost embarrassed. 

Simon seems to be a nice young lad. A bit intense, a little bit— odd. But nice. The sort of young man who looks like he has prospects. He’s polite, respectful, pleasant. For a while there he’s even wondering what a man like that is doing with Nathan, and he can see Louise doing the same, until she asks how they met.

‘Oh, we met doing community service,’ Nathan answers, looking positively _besotted_ at his boyfriend. ‘Barry tried to burn down someone’s house.’ It takes a moment for that to sink in. It doesn’t help that Nathan says it as if this is just everyday conversation, and furthermore doesn’t stop looking at Barry— no, no, his name is _Simon._ God the “Barry” thing gets confusing sometimes. What kind of pet name is Barry anyway?— as if he hung the moon and stars. 

Simon bleats something after this, though Nathan talks over him, insisting he has no reason to be ashamed and that if he wanted to set whatshisface’s house on fire he must have had a good reason to. 

‘It was a one time thing,’ Simon rushes to reassure them, ‘I really haven’t done it again. And I did try to put the fire out.’

It’s not very reassuring. He catches Louise’s eyes across the table. 

‘It’s just like him to take up with an arsonist,’ she complains later, after Nathan and Simon have left. The rest of the meal went alright, Simon didn’t do or say anything he thinks an arsonist might say— not that he knows what an arsonist might say— well, whatever an arsonist might say, Simon didn’t do or say anything _suspicious_ — he continued to be nice, polite, and capable of rational conversation. He even offered to do the washing up, dragging Nathan along with him even though the prospect had roused a more familiar set of complaints and obnoxious whining. 

‘Maybe there really were extenuating circumstances,’ he suggests, knowing he hardly sounds very convincing. 

‘Oh I’d love to hear those,’ she mutters, removing her earrings and necklace, movements a little jerky. ‘He had to save a kitten up a tree by setting a nearby house on fire, or maybe he was helping an old lady across the road and the house got in the way—’

‘Don’t grumble, love,’ he says, pulling her into his arms. ‘Arsonist or not, he seems to be good for Nathan.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she says after a moment in which he worries she’ll push him away to grumble more loudly, and grumble about him telling her not to grumble, ‘He did seem happy. It’s good that he’s happy, isn’t it?’

‘It’s very good,’ he replies, hoping than a happy Nathan will be less of a troublesome Nathan. ‘Now, let’s go to bed.’

She does grumble a bit more, but eventually he coaxes her in between the sheets, where he does his best to make sure she has nothing else to grumble about.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Simon shows up at the door, many weeks later and with an expression on his face that— It’s a look like death, he thinks after the man has left. Not a look of the dying, but more a look of the Grim Reaper himself. By then he’d almost forgotten the fact that this short, polite, well-spoken little man apparently tried to burn down someone’s house. 

The only truly offensive thing Simon had done through the series of meals he’d come around for, for all the lead up to the wedding, to the wedding himself, to the couple of meals they’d had together after the honeymoon, was get caught shagging Nathan in the loos at around the time Nathan was supposed to be walking Louise down the aisle— but from the apologetic bleating after the ceremony they were all informed that that was only because they lost track of time, and that when they’d started they were sure they’d be finished before Nathan was needed— and something about how Nathan looked in that suit.

It was a nice suit. Louise had to pay for it herself, because Nathan had no money, and then she’d sent _him_ with the boy to help him pick it out. Why Simon couldn’t go with him he’ll never know. Actually he can guess— Louise wanted it to be him because she was hoping he’s be able to reign in how much Nathan was allowed to spend on it, and Nathan didn’t want Simon going because apparently he wanted to surprise his boyfriend. 

It had not been the best experience. Suit shopping with Nathan. Oh the sarcasm, the terrible sarcasm, and all those little cutting remarks— not as bad as before, when Nathan was trying to chase him off, but any hope that Nathan would fully leave him alone and not be so _Nathan_ about everything had soon gone down the drain. That wasn’t the worst bit though, the worst bit was being asked repeatedly if the boy’s thighs/arse/waist/whatever looked sexy in whatever suit he was trying on— always followed by some comment that he could look but not touch, and that touching was reserved for “Barry”— he’s sure that the people working in all those shops ended up with the impression that he was Nathan’s sugar daddy, embroiled in some kind of masochistic, cuckholding fantasy roleplay.

He’s not sure if Nathan outright _enjoys_ humiliating him, or if it’s a side effect of the boy’s tendency to want to get up everyone’s nose. 

He supposes, all things considered, that the wedding could have gone worse. Louise had looked absolutely beautiful in her elegant yet understated dress, neither of them had gotten cold feet— though he had been almost sick with nerves the night before— he had found himself almost giddy with terrified excitement as the ceremony had taken place, and every day since he has woken up, been able to look at her and know he has not made a mistake, that if there was such a thing as soulmates this woman would be it for him. It’s just, at the time— _Nathan._

Shagging in the loos when he was supposed to be walking his mother down the aisle— and it was her that found them, of course— and most of her family was over from Ireland and some of them were of the more religious bent— so she’d asked him to tone it down a bit, just to not upset Auntie Kathleen and the like— even though he knows personally how little she cared about the feelings of a bunch of _”judgemental, narrow minded old— They’re going to give him shit about it, you know, only he won’t even care, it’ll bounce straight off him, so they’ll be in my ear the entire time about everything I did wrong to end up with such a son,”_ — So what does he do, Nathan? Spends the entire time he’s not shagging his boyfriend hanging off said boyfriend, holding his hand, whispering in his ear, grinding against him during the slow dances, sitting on his lap during the reception and feeding him pieces of cake, and those clever hazel eyes of his had been scanning the crowd for whoever it was upsetting the most, and whoever it was would have the next exuberant public display of affection directed towards them. 

He’d warned all his side about Nathan, said his new step-son was a bit of a complete twat— and done his best to explain what they could expect, making it clear to Declan, of course, that by saying Nathan was a twat he wasn’t making any comment about the lad’s sexuality, just his personality, but he could still see most of them hadn’t quite expected what they’d got. Declan found him delightful, of course, the veteran shit-stirrer—amateur though he is in comparison to Nathan— as did Declan’s boyfriend of the week.

He does remember though, sometime late in the night when he’d gone off to the loos for a piss and Declan had stumbled in after, more than a bit drunk, and while Declan had been pissing behind him and he’d been washing his hands his mate had said something about Nathan’s ice-eyed boyfriend catching him having a look, “ _not a serious look, mind, but even you’ve got to admit that boy is a looker— mum’s good looking too, if you like that sort of thing_ —" then a rough slap on the back as Declan had come around to the sink, “— lucky man, you— those lips must be from his dad though. Anyway, Barry or Simon or whatever his fucking name is caught me admiring the boy when they were dancing, and he gave me his own look in return. Not the same kind of look, I’ll tell you that. If looks could kill—”

Maybe that was some evidence of this other side of Nathan’s boyfriend, but he’d waved it off at the time. Afterall, if anyone ever looked at Louise the way a drunk Declan tends to look at pretty men he’d be giving them more than a _look._

He hadn’t been much in a mood for any mention of Nathan at the time— but that was mainly due to the speech the boy had given— even though Louise had expressly forbidden him from doing so. He wonders if it would have been any less embarrassing if Nathan had interrupted everyone’s meal and given the speech before the three or four glasses of champagne, but somehow he doubts it. It probably would have been worse, more of the boy’s brain power behind what he was saying.

Which started with an account of the time the boy and his community service friends had stumbled upon _him,_ **naked and unconscious** , as well as everyone’s hypothesis of what he was doing out there **naked and unconscious**. He’d rather not hear himself described in front of both his parents as a _psycho, rough trade, gay, rapist, werewolf_ thanks. He doesn’t know if things would have been better or worse if Nathan hadn’t gotten distracted by the topic of the size of his cock, and how great having a man with a massive cock is, and how happy he is that his mother has found a man with a massive cock who also treats her well and seems to love her quite a bit— and whether said massive cock had any positive impact on his capacity to impregnate Louise despite her _advanced age._ At this point Simon had pulled him back down onto his lap and there had been several moments of intense whisper-conversation, before Nathan had simply proposed a toast to his mother and her massive-cocked new husband and that was it. 

Only it wasn’t, because for the rest of the night— and every time he’s run into anyone from the wedding since— everyone’s eyes would go to his trouser front when they’d talk to him. He wonders if this is what it’s like to be a woman, everyone always talking to your chest instead of you?

That was the worst of it. The dancing, the grinding, the sneaking off to make-out or shag or whatever they were up to, the loudly obnoxious comments— not great, but the speech was the worst of it. But even then— it wasn’t that bad. He knows, without having to think about it, that if Nathan pre-Simon had been a guest at their wedding at least one person would have been crying and the police called before the end of the night. 

They’d gone back to Spain for the first ten days of their honeymoon, and then gone to Italy and France for a bit, and then to Ireland to visit her relatives too sick to travel— including her dad— It was lovely. Four whole weeks— almost all of the last of their annual leave used up. 

All in all he thinks he’s never been so happy before in his life. Even when they just have a night in with a takeaway watching the telly— it’s different than all the nights in he’s ever had before. Even when they don’t touch or kiss or make love, even when they’re both so tired they’re cranky and all they want to do is curl up together and go to sleep— just being with her makes the weight on his shoulders feel a little lighter.

He was thinking it was the pizza when he answered the door to find Simon, the unconscious smile slipping off his face at the man’s expression. ‘Is Nathan ok?’ is the first thing he’d thought to ask as Simon had pushed past him into the house.

‘Is Louise here?’ Simon had answered.

‘Yeah, she’s in the kitchen making a salad,’ he’d replied, just as she’d called out asking if it was Nathan and Simon.

‘It’s just me,’ Simon had called back, and then added, ‘Simon,’ as if there was any ambiguity. No one else they know speaks quite like he does.

‘Where’s Nathan?’ she’d asked, coming out of the kitchen, ‘Is everything ok?’

‘I need to know Richard’s surname,’ is what he’d said.

‘Richard?’ she’d asked, sounding as confused as he’d felt. ‘I don’t know who you—?’

He’d interrupted her. ‘You had a boyfriend. Richard.’

She’d frowned. ‘Has Nathan been telling you stories? He made that up.’

From then it had degenerated a bit. Simon had been snappish, refusing to divert his attention from his quest for Richard’s last name, and Louise had been increasingly confused and upset. In the end Simon had snapped something about asking Mike and left, which had set Louise right off. It was like when she found at that her ex-husband had known about Simon for all that time before she found out. He’d done his best, but—

Eventually he’d gotten her to calm down enough to work out what was going on, or at least what she thought was going on. Which was that she’d had a boyfriend and Nathan had accused him of sexually abusing him, but he’d denied it, and then Nathan had admitted to lying about it, and now he must have told Simon, though who knows what he actually said. The whole story had made him feel weird, but it did sound a Nathan thing to do—

Or at least he thought that until they woke early a couple of days later when her phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It was her ex-husband, Mike. She’d gone very, very grey in the face after listening to him for a while, then turned her mouth from the phone and demanded he bring in the papers. He had done so, eyes catching on the grisly headline, the name of the man involved— She’d gone even greyer when he handed it to her, slumping into a seat by the table, the phone dropping from her nerveless fingers. 

It’s later that Mike comes around, both of them having spent the day trying to get a hold of Nathan and failing, and as he watches them pace and argue and shout accusations at each other his mind keeps going back to Simon— Simon the arsonist. Simon the man with the face like death. Simon looking for this Richard—

In a distant kind of way he thinks that the man in question probably deserved something like what happened to him, based on what the papers are reporting. He, himself, would prefer these things were taken care of through the justice system, the police and the courts, but he also knows the justice system doesn’t always work— 

He wonders if the other two have put it together yet. Hopes that when they do they’ll make the same decision he has— which is keep what he knows to himself. Who knows, maybe it was some other victim who chose to act—

Somehow he doubts it. 

Anyway, he suspects a Nathan whose boyfriend has gone to prison for viciously avenging him is probably going to be a very unhappy Nathan indeed— and that is not something he ever wants to have to deal with.


End file.
